Now I’m not so sure and as Mr. Police gets closer my pulse starts to quicken and my mind goes to all sorts of crazy places.

What if this turns out to be one of those scary situations you see on those equally scary American TV shows? You know the ones I mean.

The cop turns out to be an evil, corrupt, disguised serial killer. There’s no one around for miles and he’ll probably zap me with some electrical spike and when I regain consciousness I’ll be tied up in some old shack, miles from help. There will probably be the bones of a previous victim in the corner.

Gulp. Will this be the end for me? What will happen to those left behind?

Who helps Mrs. P complete ACC forms? Or lifting George the three-legged dog back into the car after he got out for a little while?

The flashing lights are approaching now.

Heart pounding, I slow down and pull to the side of the road. Oh well. I had been told they would catch up with me one day. I just didn’t realize it would be so soon.

I am resigned to my fate when I stop completely.

Wait a little. The police car does not stop. He has just shot past at high speed, probably on his way to a much more important incident.

I breathe a sigh of relief and go on my merry way again.

I’m looking for a certain gas station. One that lets me give them the money I owe them. The same one that has made me feel like a bit of a criminal this past week, to be honest.

OK. So let me explain.

Last Friday I had an appointment with my shady hip about 400 km from where I now live.

I braved the traffic of the big smoke – and the pain in my hip, I might add (those who’ve been there know what I’m talking about) – and made it there and back in one day.

On the return trip I needed to fill up on fuel so I pulled into the busiest gas station I’ve seen in a while to do just that.

Most times when I get fuel I just fill up at the bowser, lock the car and go in to pay. This time, with cars lined up behind me waiting to get in, I thought I’d do everyone a favor and drive 15 meters to a parking lot and then enter.

I wish I hadn’t.

When I got in there was a line as long as your arm up to the register so I went to the bathroom first. When I got out the line was shorter and I eventually went up to the counter, paid for the gas and left.

It wasn’t until the following night when Mrs P was going through my travel receipts – quitting the drag race early forces you to find new ways to entertain yourself, especially if there’s nothing on the telly – that she mentioned that the fuel had been particularly cheap on the way back.

I had been in a bit of a hurry to get back to my beloved so I hadn’t really noticed exactly how much I had paid except that it was the ‘diesel at pump six’. You know what I mean, I’m sure. But yes, it was a bit cheaper. We’re just putting it down to one of the loyalty discounts you get, especially as we’ve been buying some fuel lately.

Three days later we went into our local gas station to fill up again and they told me there was a warrant out for my arrest!

Well, what they actually said was that my license plate came up in their system as a “pending” payer. Which basically meant I owed money and the catch station wanted it. Fast. At least before the system registered me as a “drive off” and collection agencies were unleashed to track me down.

Also, I had to call their customer service ASAP.

As I left the station, the young guy behind the counter added, “Don’t leave the country!”, which I actually thought was kind of funny and definitely worth mentioning.

So, a little apprehensive I must admit, I called customer inquiries and, obviously, there was a call center 1.7 million miles from where I am and no one knew what I was up to.

Eventually we established that it was a straight mix-up of what I had paid for, probably to an operator at a very busy till. No problem. I pay the $50 I owe them and we’re done.

However, it was not that easy. I needed to go back to where I bought the fuel, 400 kilometers away! I explained that it is a bit difficult given my current situation but I will go back that way in two weeks.

No. I was told it must be earlier.

OK. I can pay online right now if that helps.

No. Must be in store.

So I hung up a little frustrated, I must admit. Mrs P, who apparently has no desire to go to jail, made me call back. So I do.

This time – eventually – I get a lady who elaborates on things a bit and tells me to go to one of their stations anywhere, explain the situation, pay the outstanding bill and get a receipt. Then I have to take a photo of that receipt and send it to them to prove I sorted it.

The conversation ends with the “recommendation” I make it as soon as possible to avoid the dreaded “further action”.

And so, with Mrs. P basically packing her toothbrush and wondering how much jail time she’ll have to do as accessories, I hit the road. Again.

Now I won’t bore you with all the conversation but I tried three different gas stations of this particular brand and had no luck.

Yes, to be fair it might have been a bit unusual for the busy cashiers to have to sort but the puzzled looks I got when I explained it on the three separate occasions didn’t give me much confidence to complete the task before being arrested and thrown away in jingle.

Back at base later I tried customer service again and this time the guy on the other side of the world gave me a “unique customer number” to put into a website to make the payment.

But, you guessed it, it didn’t work.

So, for another drive I went, to clear my head and figure out what to do next, maybe even find a station that can help me. And that’s when the cop car came up behind with lights flashing and scared the bejeezus out of me.

Blood pressure back to normal at home half an hour later she who provides the rational thinking in our whānau suggested I call the actual petrol station straight away which I do.

“No worries at all,” says the helpful guy on the line. “Just come in and pay when you’re back this way in a couple of weeks. I’ll make a note of it in the system.”

I hang up the phone satisfied that I won’t be going to jail anytime soon and definitely won’t be going through this drama in the future.

That’s because I plan to sell the fuel-guzzling car and buy a pushbike instead.